Secret Keeping
by Haysel McKalister
Summary: The war is over, but Frank and Alice aren't celebrating, and no news that Sturgis brings them will change that.


Sturgis Podmore draws the short straw, and he tries not to let his unease show on his face. Instead he shrugs off his discomfort, a noble lift to his chin as he promises to report back as the others try to hide the guilt over letting chance make this decision for them. The Order of the Phoenix is _tired_, though, and the war is supposed to be over. As loyal as they are and as few duties as they have left, it's so much easier to attend to gravestones.

He can't sleep that night, and sits up in the kitchen attempting to prepare himself for the unexpected. There are the reports of what happened, yes, and Sturgis has read them all. It's different, though, actually seeing it for himself. It's easier to remember how things were without the living proof shoved in his face.

He's surrounded by his wife Patty's lists and scribbled recipes on the backs of grocery receipts and ticket stubs in the house that they know without a doubt was protected by a _Fidelius_ charm. There was still something of a life left in the person they'd chosen as their secret keeper, and if what Moody said was true, they would be unable to betray the Podmores even if they wanted. That secret was lost along with everything else -- buried deep within the tortured layers of jumbled memories that would never again make sense.

"I'll come with you, if you'd like," Patty offers as she shuffles into the room, removing the whistling tea kettle from the stove that Sturgis hadn't noticed while distracted by his thoughts. Sturgis pulls out the other chair for her as she pours them each a cup of Earl Grey and marvels for the moment at how much _braver_ his wife is than him.

"I would like," Sturgis nods in reply after some thought, trying to drown the feelings of guilt that are welling up in his gut with the tea. His anxious fidgeting gives away his nerves -- his hands are shaking slightly and his feet are tapping out the fast-paced beat to a song that only he can hear, and they both know it has nothing to do with the caffeine.

"It's going to be hard to see them like that," Patty notes, verbalizing what Sturgis refuses to admit out loud. "I'm a little scared about it. Don't tell anyone, alright?" she asks, and Sturgis isn't sure if she's telling the truth or not, if she actually is scared, but knows that she can see in his eyes that _he_ is, and he appreciates the gesture nonetheless.

"I won't say a word."

* * *

Hestia walks Sturgis and Patty up through St. Mungo's to Frank and Alice's room, and none of them say a word. She fidgets with the sleeves of her green robes and Sturgis cleans his glasses with the hem of his shirt for the umpteenth time that morning. ("They're clean, Sturgis. Just because we're already in a hospital doesn't give you the excuse to trip and hurt yourself," Patty nudges her husband, hoping to lighten to mood a little -- it's beginning to feel like they're walking the green mile.)

They reach the room in question and the young Healer bids them goodbye, twisting her dark hair in her fingers and mumbling something about being needed over in a different part of Spell Damage. She doesn't plan on avoiding the room for forever; Hestia cares too much about the people inside, but the shock of what happened still hasn't worn off for her, and it hurts to know that as a Healer there was still nothing she could do to help.

Patty slips into the room first, Sturgis grabs for her hand and moves inside behind her. He's not sure what he expects -- bandages or bruises or some _physical_ result of just how crippling the fight had been -- but the room is free of anything of the sort, which is somehow more horrifying.

There isn't the slightest sign of life or recognition in Alice's eyes as she picks at a spot on her bed-cover that only she can see, blond hair hanging unkempt in her face. She doesn't move, not even at the sound of the door latching shut behind Sturgis, the only activity on her side of the room being the repetitive motion of her fingers pulling at something on her flannel blanket that seems impossible for Alice to reach.

Frank, however, seems unable to _stop_ moving, pacing tirelessly back and forth across a six-foot stretch of the room, brows furrowed over some puzzle he can't explain. This almost seems normal to Sturgis; he's seen Frank like this before. They had thought the Auror was going to work a hole clear through the hardwood floor of the safehouse the night that Neville was born. There will be no reprieve for Frank this time, though; no Healers informing him that "it's a boy!" with all ten fingers and all ten toes.

Patty squeezes her hand free of Sturgis's hold and moves to the side of Alice's bed, sitting lightly on the edge of the mattress, wondering if it would do more harm than good to help Alice on her quest for the invisible bedspot. She instead reaches for the hairbrush on the bedside table, combing through the blonde's hair as though they're children at a sleepover and hopes that somehow Alice registers it as comforting.

Sturgis remains frozen at the door of the room, torn between feeling rude for staring and feeling rude for avoiding looking up. It nearly makes his blood boil, how unfair it all is. They had _won_, You-Know-Who was gone, but this had still happened after it was all supposed to be _over_. They had already lost so much, and yet these two who had already risked everything couldn't even remember what they had been fighting for in the first place.

"They got sent to Azkaban, the ones that did this to you," Sturgis breaks the silence, finally taking a step further into the room. "It was the Lestranges. And Crouch's kid, I didn't expect that. I'm not sure if you know. Or if you knew." Or if he was supposed to bring up the attack around them at all, but it doesn't seem to matter. Both their reactions are just as blank as the walls surrounding them.

"We wanted you to know, and I was p-- I came to tell you, me and Patty." Sturgis feels his cheeks grow warm, more from anger at the situation than embarrassment. This was Frank and Alice, they were two of the strongest people he'd ever met, their room should have been filled with visitors and gifts and a damn Order of Merlin for both of them, not as hauntingly empty as the Longbottoms' eyes. "They got you both justice, they're saying. That they got what they deserve."

As Sturgis falls quiet Alice stirs on her bed, and Patty puts down the brush and moves back to Sturgis's side, not wanting to stand in the way of the potential breakthrough that they'd all been told was impossible. Slipping off the bed onto her feet, Alice waits at the side of the bed for something only she can recognize, rocking back and forth on her toes almost impatiently, and it's the first sign of emotion that Sturgis or Patty have witnessed since they arrived.

The moment passes, however, and the blankness returns. She abandons her fruitless stint after a few seconds to circle the bed, sit back down, and return to what she had been doing. Frank halts in his pacing while Alice is on the move, not watching her, never looking up, but the timing is right and Sturgis wonders if maybe they're somehow at least aware of _each other_, or if the world they're trapped in between reality and their heads is the same place. That somehow inside their heads at least they're still together.

There's no way to ask, though, and no answers even if they tried, and Sturgis knows that Azkaban isn't even close to justice after the prison Frank and Alice have been sentenced to.


End file.
